


Resolutions

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Disappointment, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles ends the year with honesty and courage and by finally telling his best friend how he feels about him. </p><p>Or he would have, if Erik had bothered to show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you write something, and it's kind of pointless and stupidly romantic, but you feel better after writing it anyways? This was one of those things...
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! <33333

 

When Charles woke up on January 1st, he was alone.

There wasn’t anything particularly strange or unusual about waking up alone. It was the way he had spent most of the previous year and his bed was warm and familiar and worn into the shape of his body.

He tucked his face into his pillow to block out the sun and breathed in and out, swallowed around the heavy lump settled into the back of his throat. He had drank too much the night before and blamed the ache in his chest on walking home in the cold at 2 in the morning instead of taking a cab.

Curling tighter onto his side he pillowed his comforter closer to his body, tried to smother the heavy throb of his heart as he breathed again, in and out. His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he reached for it slowly, tried to numb the automatic swell of anticipation. He knew better now. No sense in hoping for something that was never going to happen.

_happy hangover day! xoxo_

The text was from Raven and he smiled as he typed a message back blaming his headache on her bartending skills and her inability to mix a proper drink. He peered blearily over at the overstuffed chair in the corner by the window and grimaced at the pile of clothes crumpled on the lumpy seat.

 _Tell Sean I’ll get his suit dry-cleaned and back to him asap—and thanks again_.

His hand hovered over the screen for a moment, and before he could convince himself to toss the phone into his blankets and go back to sleep, he was sliding his thumb over Erik’s name.

He was older now, and supposedly wiser. Smart enough to know that high expectations for a night as ridiculous and over-inflated as New Years Eve only resulted in bitter disappointment. Still, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from going to Raven’s party full of hope and letting her dress him in a borrowed suit that fit him just a little too tightly. And when he managed to extract a promised appearance from Erik, he couldn’t stop imagining any number of stupid romantic scenarios where Erik saw him from across the crowded apartment and realized amidst the holiday cheer and the flush of alcohol and high spirits that Charles was more than just a friend. In this dreamed-up setting, he would pluck up his courage and offer Erik a drink and later a kiss as everyone else counted down to midnight.

In the end, Charles received compliments on his suit, friendly insults on his dancing, caught up with Moira who he hadn’t seen in ages, drank endless amounts of gin, kissed Logan when the clock stuck midnight as Raven and Marie howled with laughter and spent the first moments of the new year with his hand pressed against his chest in the bathroom, trying to calm down and not cry.

The text Erik sent him at 12:28am remained empathically the same in the light of morning as it had the night before:

_Hey, happy new year_

He read it again and then dumped his phone over the side of the bed, tucked his head under the blankets. He should be relieved; at least now he knew with absolute certainty that Erik had no romantic feelings for him. He wouldn’t have to waste anymore of his time analyzing the way Erik laughed at his terrible jokes and gave him a hard time, or met him in cramped coffee shops to do work while Charles graded papers and knew exactly what tea Charles liked best. If Erik wanted their relationship to evolve into something more he would have gone to Raven’s party. Charles pressed his face into his hands and breathed in and out and forced himself back to sleep.

When he woke later it was to the belligerent clamor of the doorbell echoing down the hallway to his bedroom. He was still buried underneath his blankets, and he was hot and disoriented as he stumbled out of bed, his undershirt sticking to the small of his back, his boxers twisted high on his legs. He pressed one hand over his eyes and groped along the wall toward the front door where someone was leaning on the bell so that it rang ceaselessly and obnoxiously.

“Raven, stop—“ he groaned, fumbling with the lock and opening the door. Instead of Raven it was Erik standing on the other side, grinning at him and holding a Styrofoam container.

“Are we awake?” he asked, smirking and pushing gently past Charles into the apartment. Charles could only stagger out of his way and shut the door behind him, his brain buzzing with a high pitched frequency that seemed to paint everything in bright, saturated tones.

As Erik toed off his shoes and moved toward the kitchen, Charles became horrifyingly aware of his hair and the fact that he was in his underwear. Erik was unfairly bright eyed and coherent, looking unreasonably handsome in jeans and a t-shirt as he dumped his coat over a chair and began to fiddle with Charles’ coffee maker.

Charles attempted to slip past him, to hurry back to his bedroom and throw on trousers or a sweater, but Erik snagged his wrist and directed him to one of the stools at the counter.

“How’s your head?” he asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Advil. In truth, Charles’ head was spinning less from the hangover and more from the way Erik moved easily around his kitchen, pouring him a glass of water and popping open the Styrofoam container, placing it in front of him.

There were waffles inside, large golden brown waffles from the diner down the street.

Charles took two of the Advil and tried to clear his foggy brain.

“What—what is all this?” He asked, and Erik grinned at him from over his shoulder as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Raven was telling me about last night, and I wanted to come over and make sure you were still alive.”

“Oh…” Charles looked down at the waffles. There was even a little plastic container of maple syrup, which was handy because Charles had almost no food in his house, and definitely not something as rarely used as maple syrup.

“You always get the waffles whenever we go to Bobby’s,” Erik said handing him a knife and fork, “So I figured they’d be appreciated.”

Charles took the utensils and slowly cut along the sharp grid of the waffle. The crunch was less satisfactory than it usually was.

“What happened to you last night?” he asked, trying to sound casual and not like his heart was making a bid for escape through his throat.

Erik was digging through his cupboards, reaching up on his toes for the bag of unused sugar, the muscles in his back flexing distractingly.

“I had to work after all. Didn’t I text you that?” He glanced over at Charles as he spooned sugar into his coffee and Charles forced himself to shake his head, to smile.

“Oh, sorry. I hate new years anyways. It’s such an arbitrary holiday and everyone always makes such a big deal out of it.” Charles shut his eyes, embarrassment and hurt reverberating through him. He still felt raw and flayed open and Erik being in his apartment, unknowingly callous and still wonderfully thoughtful, it was wreaking havoc on his head.

 “Hey, are you okay? Are you going to be sick?” When he opened his eyes again, Erik was hovering by his stool, one hand stretched out as if to brace him or stop him from falling over.

“I’m fine,” he said, and Erik, as effortlessly tactile as he always was, reached out and gently took him by the arm, drew him off his stool despite his protests.

“Here, we’ll go eat on the couch and I can finally force you to watch all of the lethal weapon movies.”

Erik pulled at him again and he stumbled. He collided into Erik’s body and their feet tangled, Charles hands pressed up against Erik’s chest, Erik’s arms coming around his waist naturally to catch him. It was painfully intimate, and a sharp echo of everything Charles had imagined up until the night before when his bubble had been burst.

He shoved at Erik and stumbled back from him, crashing painfully into the kitchen counter.

“I can’t. I can’t I’m sorry,” he gasped, one hand held up between them.

“Charles—“ Erik started, and Charles shook his head, turned and fumbled with the waffle container, snapping the lid shut.

“You should probably go,” he said, heading over to the fridge and placing the container carefully inside. He busied himself with washing the barely used knife and fork in the sink, his back to Erik. Erik’s voice was confused and tentative when he asked,

“Charles…what’s going on?”

He felt, suddenly, overwhelmingly exhausted. He rubbed at his eye with the back of one wet hand,

“I just. I need to be alone, okay? It’s fine.”

There was movement from behind him and then Erik’s voice again, closer,

“You’re obviously not fine…did something happen last night?”

Charles put the clean fork into the drying tray and braced his hands against the counter.

“Nothing happened, that’s the point. You weren’t even there.”

Erik huffed, and Charles could feel a sudden tension spark and rise, Erik as quick to anger as he always was.

“Is that seriously what this is about? You’re pissed at me because I didn’t come to a stupid party?”

Charles turned and leaned back against the counter, his heart thumping painfully in his chest, his hands shaking.

“It meant something to me, Erik. It’s a stupid and pointless tradition, but it meant something to me and you didn’t even bother to show up even after you promised you’d be there.”

Erik folded his arms, his mouth creasing downwards in a scowl,

“I’m sorry I had to work, okay? I’m sorry my job is more important than getting wasted with you.”

He was surprised at how much the words hurt, like a physical blow. Charles knew Erik knew nothing about Sharon and the way she died, but they snagged something inside him that he usually kept safely tucked away and he felt ashamed, gutshot and cracked open. His head was still pounding and his heart hurt and he wanted desperately to crawl into bed and seal out the world with heavy blankets again.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” He turned and headed slowly out of the kitchen, “I’m going to go and lay down for a bit.”

“Hey,” Erik said, cutting him off in the doorway and bracing his hands on Charles’ shoulders, “I’m the one who’s sorry, okay?” He looked at him, and Charles was unable to avoid his gaze, bright, penetrating and now ruefully apologetic and concerned. “Why was last night so important to you?”

His voice was so gentle and so imploring, and Charles was so very tired. The words were pulled out of him like a kite caught on a high wind, lifted and dragged unerringly away from the ground.

“Because last night I was going to tell you that I’m in love with you.”

Saying it out loud came with a sense of relief, of a burden long carried suddenly lifted. The part of him that had pined bitterly over Erik ever since Raven introduced them, that watched Erik go on date after date with beautiful men and women and swallowed any resentful selfish criticisms, that part of him could finally rest easy. But on the heels of relief came a sudden overwhelming regret, compounded by the way Erik’s face fell open in shock, his mouth and eyes wide and surprised, and Charles immediately wished he could take the words back. Erase them from Erik’s mind.

Erik hadn’t known, and from the absolute astonishment painting his expression, he didn’t feel the same way. All of his kindness, the way he took care of Charles and seemed to show him special attention, all of that was just friendliness. And now Charles had ruined any friendship they had once had.

“Oh god.” He felt sick and he couldn’t bear to look at Erik a moment longer. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” He ducked past Erik who stood with his arms hung loosely by his sides, who made no move to stop him.

He kept his feet moving until he was in his bedroom again, the door shut behind him. He felt like he was having a heart attack, the sound of his breathing loud and howling in his ears, his stomach screwed up tight into a knot that lurched upwards and choked him. He pressed his face against the wood of the door and tried to calm, tried to think, but he could only hear the sound of his ragged breathing, was only aware of his body slowly collapsing in on itself.

The door suddenly opened, and unprepared, he fell through, fell directly into Erik who caught him and gripped him tight. Erik looked as startled as Charles felt, but the surprise lasted for only a moment and then Erik was—Erik was kissing him, his hands clumsy and heavy on Charles shoulder, his cheek, tangling through his hair, Erik’s mouth moving desperately and sinuously beneath Charles’, until Charles could no longer breathe, could no longer think, was only able to press his hands over Erik’s ribs and hang on for dear life.

The riot in his head quieted and his body moved purely on instinct, drawing Erik into the room pushing him onto the bed, crawling awkwardly into his lap and clutching him between thighs, within his arms, kissing him until his lip cracked open and bled, and even then Charles couldn’t stop, so afraid that this was it: his one chance.

Erik groaned and pushed him back for air, the two of them gasping and staring at each other, and Charles could feel Erik’s body beneath him, could see his mouth ruined and red from kissing, but he still couldn’t believe this was real. Erik ran his hands up Charles’ chest and then gripped him tightly on the back of the neck, grounding them both, drawing Charles forward to press their foreheads together.

“I spent every fucking day of the last year trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Erik said, and Charles felt, abruptly, absurdly, like crying.

“Oh.” He was unsure of what else to say, unsure that any other words could come out without tears along with them.

Erik adjusted his grip on him, drew him forward into an embrace, breathing hotly into the line of Charles’ collarbone. Charles held him until they both calmed and Erik pulled back to kiss him, light and sweet this time without the frenzy or nearly panicked desperation.

Erik laughed, broken and sharp, and kissed him again, firmly, in the way of one getting used to taking liberties they’d only just earned.

“Do you think I bring waffles to just anyone?” he asked and Charles laughed with him, allowed the moment to break open and fill with light. A burst of joy rushed through him and he tackled Erik down to the bed and began an exploration of the sensitive spot just under Erik’s ear, the scar along his chest, the way his muscles twitched when Charles pressed his mouth just so on his hipbone.

Later when he watched Erik drift off to sleep while sharing his pillow, his body making a new shape in the blankets, his hand pressed against the small of Charles’ back, he made a resolution: that he would do whatever he could to wake up the same way the next day, and the day after that. That instead of another year waking up alone, he would learn what it was like to wake up wrapped around another person, to see Erik smile when he opened his eyes.

And when he drifted off to sleep he thought maybe he’d finally found a resolution he could keep.


End file.
